Obiora grinned at them, his grief, for the moment, forgotten.
“Cue the music.”
“YOU NEED A VACATION.”
“YEAH? No shit.”
Obiora took a gulp of water from his flask, then flexed his aching wrists and fingers, a sure sign he’d gone too hard on the punching bag. The gym had since emptied of Esther’s class, only about three regulars left behind, all with headphones on and working on their personal routines.
“If you ask your dad, are you sure he won’t let you off for a bit?” Esther prodded. She was on a mat beside him, doing her cool-down stretches. Her dark brown skin shone with sweat, and her maroon braids—pulled up into a tight bun—were beginning to come loose from her bright pink hair-tie.
“I don’t want him to worry.” He saw her roll her eyes in the reflection of the gym’s floor-to-ceiling mirror and couldn’t help but grin in response. “I’m serious. I ask for time off now and he’ll think I’m dying.”
Esther snorted, then laughed. “This isn’t just about Ada.”
His chest twisted painfully at the sound of her name spoken out loud, mixed with an insurmountable gratitude. Everyone else tip-toed around the subject, but even though it hurt, Obiora loved Esther for never treating his girlfriend’s death like it was a taboo.
“Oh yeah?”
Esther rolled her eyes again. “This is about you and how suffocated you feel at work.”
Obiora stumbled on his way to the treadmill. “What? I’m not—what?”
“You work out when you’re stressed.” Esther finally stood, done with her stretching. “Over the past few—”
“I work out literally every day, Es.”
“Don’t interrupt. Over the past few weeks, don’t think I haven’t noticed you coming in here earlier and leaving later. Something’s got you tense, and with the way you’ve been complaining lately about your projects and deadlines, I’m going to put all my money on it being your job.”
Obiora swallowed, refusing to meet her eyes where she was staring him down through their reflections.
“You know I’m right,” she said softly.
“Okay. Let’s say you’re right. What then?”
Esther crossed her arms. “Well …”
Obiora fiddled with the settings on the treadmill until it was at a steady incline, and began to jog. “Well …?” he echoed.
“I brought my camera,” she blurted.
It took him a second to understand. “Oh God, Es, not this again.”
“Come on! What could it hurt?” She started counting off on her fingers. “One, you’ll get a vacation; two, you won’t worry your family; three, you’ll have an excuse to take some time off without feeling this completely misplaced sense of guilt every time you think about quitting”—Obiora’s breath hitched—“and four, you just might fall in love.”
He scoffed. “Not gonna happen. You know my heart belongs to one person and one person only.” And that person was fucking dead.
Esther suddenly looked pissed. “I wish you wouldn’t take that bastard’s last words to heart. Nicholas was an asshole, Obi. He disrespected your boundaries and took advantage of you when you were—”
“Es.” His voice was dark. “Drop it.”
She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Then she smiled. “I’ve got my camera, and the questions downloaded on my phone. It won’t hurt to at least send in your audition. What are the odds that they’d pick you, anyways?”
Obiora’s eyes narrowed. Esther looked smug. She’d dangled it in front of him like a challenge, and fucking hell he couldn’t resist a fucking challenge.
He switched off the treadmill. “Fine.”
“Yes.” She pumped her fist.
